


The Flower of Cities

by Leni Jess (Leni_Jess)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: sshg_exchange, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-02
Updated: 2011-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:06:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni_Jess/pseuds/Leni%20Jess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Johnson said, "If a man is tired of London, he is tired of life." Hermione exerts herself to make sure that Severus Snape won't get tired of London, and may indeed find interest in life. She doesn’t feel quite so helpful about another ex-Death Eater's new life, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flower of Cities

  
_London, thou art the flower of cities all!  
Gem of all joy, jasper of jocundity._

In Honour of the City of London [possibly by William Dunbar, or possibly by Anon, after all; re-Englished]

 

For getting around London, Apparition beat the Underground hands down. Without Apparition Hermione would never have got Severus much further than the end of the street. He still jibbed at the crowds of Muggles on the pavements of Hampstead High Street, though they weren't so crowded at the Belsize Park part of the hill. He loathed the car exhaust and the constant traffic roar, though now he was willing to put up with them for short periods. Not long enough to get to the freedom of the Heath, though, whatever route they took. For months she had had to side-along Apparate him, until he regained the physical and magical strength to do it for himself.

At first he had been nervous at – not to say afraid of – as well as battered by the sheer density of everything in the Muggle world: numbers, noise, smells, movement. The conditioning of twenty years of double-agenting wasn't easily overcome by two years of being ignored, and his childhood in that dilapidated mill town hadn't prepared him for the Great Wen of London. Diagon Alley had nothing on the confusion and pressure of almost any local high street.

It was another overcast day, as so often this summer, with the possibility of rain forecast by both Muggle and wizarding wireless. Severus hadn't been out, she was pretty sure, since last Tuesday, when she had called around after work and coaxed him out onto Hampstead Heath. They went there often, even though there were always walkers and dogs and children and kite-flyers to evade. He liked the Heath and its rougher hills, with their long views over hazy London, and its valleys, with their secrecy and security. He would stride out forgetfully, his long legs allowing him to draw ahead of her, until he paused for her to catch up. Or so he pretended.

Hermione dawdled more than she needed to, even now, so he could avoid showing he needed to get his breath. The Healers at St Mungo's had got the venom out of his system eventually, and repaired most of the damage it had done to everything from his muscles to his lungs to his voice, and even reduced the permanent magical scarring of Nagini's fangs on his throat. Severus was still recuperating, though. It might be years before he could cover the ground as he used to do, walking briskly from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, or taking long hikes through the Forbidden Forest to collect ingredients and barter with the centaurs.

This was Saturday, so Hermione had all day free to keep him company and coax him into fresh air and exercise. He snarled frequently about being her project, and insulted the Gryffindor desire to do good to those who had neither need nor wish for it, but he almost always came for a walk after only nominal objections, unless it was raining. She was fairly sure he knew her aversion to walking in the rain was much greater than his own; Severus had asceticism down to a fine art.

Last weekend had been fine, so they had spent Saturday wandering around St James's Park, particularly the less frequented bits, though the antics of the pelicans amused Hermione just as much as they entertained the Muggles watching them. They took time-outs for coffee from the thermos in her rucksack, and for her to sniff all the flowers drenching the summer air with their perfumes, and to stroke their tender petals and the amazing range of textures in leaf and stem. When Severus started talking about the use of any of them as a potions ingredient she knew it was safe to move on.

Today, she proposed they go to Kew Gardens. Severus made his token complaints about being dragged out against his will, and how she took too much notice of what the Healers said. He also complained that he needed to weed his garden rather than tramp around in yet another Muggle space because she was incapable of getting down to work and keeping at it and assumed the same of him. She only bothered to respond to the last, knowing that long before the day warmed up he had finished all his weeding and harvesting in the narrow garden beds planted with herbs both Muggle and wizarding. (The latter were cloaked in Notice-Me-Not charms, in case the upstairs neighbours noticed what the occupant of the garden flat was growing.)

Severus let himself be persuaded, grumbling, "Why do you persist in dragging me all over London, Granger? One public park is much like another. Oh, very well. I suppose your parents used to take you there. Sentimental Gryffindor."

"Yes," she said mildly. "The first time I saw it was on my eighth birthday. We didn't walk very fast or very far, but I'm glad I saw Kew Gardens as it was then."

He glanced at her, interest caught. " _Then_?"

"About a month later there was a terrible storm. You probably noticed it at Hogwarts, too. I think half the trees in England came down."

He made a soft, surprised sound of assent. "Yes, I do remember. The centaurs foretold it, and asked Albus for help to preserve the Forbidden Forest from the worst of it." A little smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "Astonishing; they must have been very concerned indeed to ask for wizarding help, even his. They didn't bother to warn Hogsmeade, of course, but Albus did; he wanted all the help he could get. None of us got much sleep that night. In the end the Great Storm didn't do much damage in Scotland."

She stared at him, wondering if he really meant that the centaurs and a few wizards had managed to turn the storm so that all its wrath fell on England and France. She wasn't sure she wanted it confirmed that between them they had so much power; that had been the greatest storm in nearly three hundred years. Attempting weather working had killed enough wizards over the centuries; she remembered Professor Flitwick's warning about that in sixth year and the horrifying examples he had given. Books on weather charming were held in a special reserve in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' Library. Nor did she want to wonder if turning it back from the Forbidden Forest and Scotland had intensified its strike upon England.

"So the Forest wasn't destroyed, as so many forests and parklands in England were."

"No."

She managed to smirk back at him, hiding her distress. "Then the centaurs missed the opportunity that many park managers in England were able to seize on, to improve their tree management practices – to plant more sensibly, to nurture and maintain root systems, to make sure that they had a good spread of species –"

"To imitate a real forest, you are saying."

Damn the man, he was right – so long as undergrowth was controlled, and overgrowth pruned away; fire was too harsh a tool.

Resignedly she said, "At least the Muggles learned. I sometimes wonder how much the wizarding world learns from disasters."

Severus scowled, and she realised that now she had depressed them both.

"Kew!" she said firmly. "There's always something new to be seen there. I like to go in all the seasons."

She didn't say that until the war ended and she was free, she hadn't been there since the end of her third Hogwarts year.

They clasped hands firmly and Apparated under Hermione's guidance. She hated the feel of being squeezed like toothpaste from a tube, but a few seconds of that discomfort was much better than enduring a ride on the London Underground. From Belsize Park to the Tube stop at Kew Gardens would probably take a good hour, though it was a lot less if you took the overground rail station on the North London Line from Hampstead Heath. She had managed to get him on the Tube a couple of times, when it was quiet, but he had disliked it quite as much as she did, and complained much more vociferously (which meant it didn’t actually disturb him, which was good, but the Healers insisted he didn’t need stress, either). She was happy to research Apparition coordinates if she didn't already know a place herself.

As always, when they planned to be out all day, she had food and drinks, so that Severus could keep away from crowds and inferior coffee. He was much fussier than she was about that, but she had learned to make it the way he liked it. Her charmed thermos would pour his black and strong and heavily sugared, while hers came out black and mild with a touch of sugar substitute.

Hermione didn't take them to the main gate. She had been brought up to pay proper entry fees, but she would make a donation before they left. Instead she Apparated them into a back corner of the Waterlily House, where they were hidden behind a thin screen of plants. She gasped as the air changed: it was so hot and humid! As a child she had never been subjected to the transition so abruptly.

Severus actually swayed, and braced himself on the glass wall just behind them. She turned, still holding his hand, to see his face both pale and instantly sweating. She could feel herself beginning to perspire, but at least she wasn't close to fainting. Not that he would acknowledge how strongly he was affected.

She muttered, "I'm sorry! The door's over this way."

Once they were sure none of the other visitors were looking towards them, they made their way carefully to the path, though Hermione applied a Disillusionment Charm as a precaution before they moved. They skirted the large central pond full of waterlily leaves, some of them six foot across, managed to get outside without falling over, and sat thankfully on the nearest bench. Hermione hastily took off her rucksack and her light coat, enabling Severus to take off his long black coat without admitting to any weakness, and fanned her face with her hand.

"Phew! I thought we could look at the giant Amazonia lily, see if it was blooming, but not if it's that hot inside. There might have been some buds; I didn't see a flower. Anyone who wore glasses wouldn't be able to see a thing."

Severus didn't even make a nasty crack about Harry and his glasses, though he must be annoyed with her. That might be a bad sign.

Instead he asked, "Do you need a drink to cool down?"

"Good idea," she agreed, fishing in the rucksack, surreptitiously using an Engorgement Charm on the two water bottles. They came out glistening from the effects of the strong Cooling Charm she had placed on them after she'd taken them out of her fridge at home.

Severus drank carefully, slowly, and she forced herself to follow his example.

"Do you want to look at that lily?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. Let's walk past the Palm House – it'll be warm too, though not as bad as that – to look at the old pagoda, at the far corner of the gardens, then go to the Temperate House."

"'Temperate' sounds better," he agreed, rising, and slinging his coat over his shoulder.

"Would you like me to put that in my pack?"

"I'll probably want to wear it again; this isn't a hot day."

They walked the lightly populated paths, past the enormous glasshouse, not as pretty as the Palm House, but stately in a Victorian manner, even with all the extra wings it had acquired. Severus seemed to enjoy the flowering shrubs, and admire the trees, as she did, though the Cherry Walk was well past its flowering time. They glanced at the funny little Greek temple in its incongruous grove of palm trees and its dark green Mediterranean garden, which they wandered around, seeing it was at its best, sniffing the aromatic herbs in particular, rubbing leaves between their fingers to release the scent. Then they paused to stare towards the many-storeyed Chinese pagoda in the distance. Severus smirked and raised a deprecating eyebrow at it, as he had at the temple, buildings erected as garden ornaments over more than two centuries.

They walked along the straight grassy path aimed at the pagoda, and Hermione told him some of the stories her parents had told her about it: how it had once had gilt dragons on the corners of its tiled roofs (but they had rotted away), and how holes had been cut in its floors so that Muggle Second World War designers could check how model bombs behaved when dropped.

She disapproved of that, but Severus remarked, "The building's very tall, and it never hurts to check one's calculations."

"You'd think they could have found a disused shot tower, and not have to go to the trouble of chopping holes at all."

"Shot tower?"

"Once, bullets were made round by dropping the molten lead through sieves, at the tower top, into water. There's one at Greenwich, I know."

"Lazy devils, then, unless Greenwich kept tighter hold on its property than Kew was able to."

When she told him the pagoda was closed to the public he said, "Perhaps the staircases have rotted, too, if the gardens' managers allowed that vandalism."

Severus didn’t seem to be impressed by the attempts at authenticity in these buildings so far from their homelands, but perhaps no one would be, whose standard of architectural magnificence was a thousand-year-old magical castle, which was at once wildly beautiful and completely functional.

"Not much better than Muggle garden gnomes," he said dismissively, turning his back on the pagoda. "I imagine this place is full of such things?"

Hermione smiled and said, "Oh yes! The Temple of This and The Temple of That. Collectively they're called 'follies', after all. The glasshouses are much more important, and some of them more elegant, too. But Kew maintains the buildings carefully, now, and there are attractive modern additions, too. Some people come here to admire them quite as much as to walk on the grass and smell the flowers. Kew Palace is about the only example of its style and period, after all, and it's so small: it's cute."

Severus rolled his eyes and muttered about American vocabulary.

She ignored him and went on dispensing information. Even now she still had attacks of that. "When the Great Storm hit Kew and felled so many old-growth trees, there was just as much concern for the follies and the historic buildings. There was a Chinese Tree of Heaven that fell, more or less on that little temple, but though they rescued the temple they couldn't do it for the tree. Perhaps a herbologist could have done so, with magic. What do you think?"

He considered that. "A very large tree?"

"Yes, and over a century old, I think."

"It would require much effort and expenditure of magic. If we had such a garden and it had suffered such damage, we'd have had to choose what to rescue too." Severus shrugged. "It all depends on an individual's power and will and sustained effort, in the end. Nothing's free."

On their way back to the Temperate glasshouse Severus seemed to like the replica Japanese temple gate better. This might have been because it was smaller and less pretentious, even with its beautiful carvings of flowers and animals, and its roof of glowing copper tiles, but probably because of the traditional Japanese gardens in which it was set. Hermione too found their mixture of orderliness and quirkiness soothing. They agreed that the Garden of Harmony was best of the three. It was a pity the azaleas' blooming season was almost done; she would have liked to see those capping the smooth rounds of perfectly pruned low bushes, the green of the leaves almost occluded by the blanket of pinks and reds and white. The play of water in the streamlets, singing over carefully laid rocks and between miniature mountains, made up for that absence, as did the glowing colours of the tiny bulbs peering from darker green corners.

They both enjoyed the Temperate House, and Severus commented with approval on some of the unusual specimens that Kew was successfully nurturing there.

"I suppose they have private working greenhouses around the back somewhere?"

"Shedloads. Neville did a stint there last summer – there are a few wizards who work here, he said, but it's nothing official, not organised by the Ministry or through the Muggle Prime Minister. Still, there's some plant exchange between the two worlds."

"I think we can trust Professor Sprout and her colleagues at the Physic Garden near St Mungo's to keep a careful eye on anything the Muggles have that might be useful to us, and to start raising them and breeding their own strains. They don't need the Ministry or the Prime Minister for that. The Neville Longbottoms of our world must be good for something."

Hermione didn't bother to object to his slander on Neville; she knew quite well Severus had a much better opinion of him these days. Severus was far more impressed by knowing Neville had disposed of Nagini than he had been by having to cover up Neville's work with Dumbledore's Army, in his year as Headmaster.

Last of all in the Temperate House they visited the Australian garden. Hermione had never seen it since it had been moved from its original site, but having sent her parents to Australia (and having found they didn't wish to be retrieved), she was happy to look now. When she visited them they always took a trip somewhere interesting, but the country was so large she knew she would never see everything of interest. She was happy to prowl through all Kew had to offer. She liked the way banksias and many other flowering shrubs spread themselves across the seasons, flowering and fruiting at different times of year, so that there was always food for the birds and insects. Severus listened remarkably tolerantly as she found and gloated over and extolled her favourites, and even blinked with her at the enormous Gymea lilies, which she had seen pictures of but never seen in life.

She finally wound down with, "Imagine Hagrid giving a bunch of those as a bouquet to Madame Maxime!"

"Yes, but they're pink," he objected, mock-solemn. "I don't think the colour would suit her complexion. And they'd be outsize; I'm not sure even Hagrid could hold a _bunch_."

Hermione giggled, then said, "Let's have our picnic lunch; I'm famished."

He didn't need to stipulate somewhere quiet; Hermione dug out the map she had picked up earlier and they made their way along paths and across lawns to the Magnolia Garden. As she had expected, some of the trees were in flower, since different types came into flower from early to late in the year, here at Kew, where the main flowering season was in spring.

Even now, with summer under way, there were wildflowers showing in the grass; different from those of April and May, but as colourful and as delicately scented and as popular with the bees and other insects.

They established themselves in dappled shade, on plain mown grass, thick and richly green, and Hermione opened out her rucksack, enlarging the packets of food she had made up. She had discovered that Severus's appetite could be tempted by delicacies as well as satisfied with the familiar food of the north as cooked by Hogwarts' house-elves. So the picnic lunches she put together were partly gifts from that kitchen (a favour from Minerva McGonagall to Severus; she too wished him well and fully recovered) and partly her own gleanings from the greengrocer and the delicatessen. Hermione could cook, but she saw no need to do it unnecessarily, when such excellent food could be had for mere money, as well as for love. She had more important uses for her time – chivvying Severus Snape into good health and an interest in life, for one.

Last summer she had taken him to parks and gardens too, since they provided more privacy and solitude than most places of interest in London, where he was bound by the necessity of revisiting St Mungo's frequently. However, even after a year spent there learning to speak and walk and use his magic again, he had mostly sat about, rather than walked, and had a tendency to sit down suddenly, which maddened him. His temper was much better this year, like his general health.

She had grown used to his sharp tongue and his willing embrace of his inner curmudgeon, but she had learned to know his wit and cleverness, too, and his genuine interest in debate. By now she was comfortable with him. Much more of a miracle was that he was comfortable with her.

They stayed on the grass once their meal was done, reclining, eyes closed, enjoying the moderate sunshine.

Only when the chill of spreading cloud-cover roused Hermione did she look over at Severus, to see him huddling into his coat.

She knew better than to jump up and urge him to take shelter and get warm; instead she looked at her Muggle watch and said, genuinely surprised, "It's later than I thought. Would you like to go over to the Woodland Garden, between the Main Gate and the Victoria Gate? There are supposed to be Himalayan Blue Poppies in bloom there this month."

The ten-minute walk should warm him up again, and when you've seen one blue poppy you've seen them all, so it need not take long.

"Do you think I could collect some of the poppyheads? I'd like to experiment with their seeds."

"Depends how many people are there. It's cooler, so a lot may have gone home. A Disillusionment Charm might provide cover enough. But only if there are lots in flower!"

"And if the seedheads have formed already," he completed dryly, and rose. "It may be too early. I could come back later in the season, by night." She could see the acquisitive gleam in his eye. "There are plants in that Mediterranean Garden I should like to try in my garden, too; mine is both sunny and sheltered."

Severus walked more slowly than he had in the morning, but it didn't seem as if he had over-driven himself. She thought that after the poppies she might suggest they go home. Perhaps he'd like to come to dinner. Or maybe she should make that invitation for tomorrow, so he could rest instead of pushing himself to keep up with her. She could suggest they go to a small art exhibition, and then eat early.

He wasn't interested in the big art galleries, and positively disliked their crowds. Anyone whose formative years had been spent at Hogwarts tended to look on art as archival material, of interest only if one had known the person or place depicted, or wished to mine a portrait's memory for specialised information. (The trouble there, for students, was getting a true estimate of the accuracy of the information offered.) Severus was more likely to take an interest in street sculpture, though he could be magnificently rude about a lot of modern offerings.

Just as they reached the Woodland Garden the sun came out again, and the flowers in the tangle of grass and tall leafy stems suddenly blazed the brilliant blue of a hot summer's day sky. Hermione stopped, her breath catching with delight, then moved slowly around and sank to her knees on the grass, so that she could see some of the poppies backlit by sun. They glowed, the rich blue silk of their petals transparent, the thick coronas of stamens crowded around the dark centres a soft polleny gold.

She forgot about mundane issues such as the ripeness of poppyheads and the possible presence of Muggle observers, and stared until she felt rather than heard Severus move up beside her and rest a hand lightly on her shoulder.

"They are so beautiful! Even without sunlight, but with it...!"

His fingers tightened slightly, then lifted.

"They are not poppies, of course," he observed coolly.

She turned her head to smile up at him, untroubled by his determined avoidance of anything like rapture. " _Meconopsis_ , not _Papaver_ ," she agreed, "but commonly called poppies, all the same."

Her smile broadened, as he dipped his head in acknowledgement that he had not managed to disconcert her.

His hand slipped under her elbow as he helped her to rise to her feet, an unnecessary courtesy, but one she valued, like every voluntary touch from him, as showing that he was at ease with her.

"Well," she glanced about quickly, "you could certainly take some seedheads, if they're mature enough."

"Yes, over there, see?" He pointed with his chin, rather than a finger, to a clump of poppies in every stage from hairy buds to the bare brown chalices of the seedheads.

His fingers slid into the top of his wand-sheath, though he did not take the wand out, nor speak a spell aloud. She watched as first one seedhead was snapped gently off, then a small cascade parted from their stems and fell towards the ground, disappearing before they reached it. Severus patted his pocket.

"That should do."

He looked up at the sky. It was still sunny, but also still quite cool.

"Shall we go? Would you take tea with me before you go home, Hermione?"

"Thank you, Severus; yes."

As she had done since shortly after he had moved into the flat in Belsize Park Gardens that she found for him, she Apparated direct into his living room, hearing the almost inaudible pop of his own displacement of air as they arrived together.

He made the tea in the Muggle manner he preferred, for a more respectful treatment of the tea leaves, allowing the water to boil normally and then pouring it over the leaves in the warmed teapot to steep. As he replaced the lid, he said, "I suppose there is a great deal more to be seen at Kew?"

"We haven't covered even half of it, though we've done most of the popular stuff. One thing you might like to see, one day – remember we were speaking of the Great Storm? There's a sort of memorial to the downed trees in the Visitor Centre, a wall mural, a wood-carving, made from pieces of all the fallen trees." She smiled wryly. "The wind's force is represented as a naked giant, accompanied by Dogs of Fo – you know, Chinese lion monsters – tearing down trees, overbearing treetops and birds and monuments in a chaos of falling branches."

He knew what she referred to. "And ten years later the Muggles suffered storm damage that was in fact done by giants, when Voldemort at last came into the open and began to terrorise both Muggle and wizarding Britain. I don't know that I do want to look at it. I've seen enough violence. A representation of it would be either too much or too little."

"Then would you like to come with me to something more removed from ancient history? This summer the Worshipful Company of Goldsmiths is holding an exhibition of works from their collection, all twentieth century work. It's supposed to be quite spectacular, and will certainly be of the highest quality. With no representations of violence – or indeed of people."

"If you wish to go I shall accompany you, yes." Severus poured her tea and edged the milk jug towards her.

She wasn't disappointed by this tepid agreement. He might well have refused her.

She cautioned, "It's a large exhibition, and there will probably be quite a few people looking at it."

His mouth twisted, but he shrugged. "Tomorrow?"

"They're closed on Sundays. I might be able to get an afternoon off midweek – I work late often enough, when we're busy. Berit encourages us to take time off when things are quieter, to make up for that. Goldsmiths' Hall would be less crowded then, I think."

He had indicated that he would be willing to come out with her the next day, so she asked, "Have you ever wandered around the City of London? It's quite different at the weekend – really quiet, except around places like St Paul's."

"Not churches," he said firmly.

"There are lots of small, interesting gardens in out-of-the-way spots," she offered.

He liked the idea of that, she could see. In a city he always preferred the hidden, the safe, to being vulnerable out in the open. The countryside was different; he was used to that, and felt secure in it. "With pigeons bathing in fountains?"

"Probably."

"Then if it's fine..."

"If I come at one o'clock?"

"Come a little earlier; don’t make a Hogwarts picnic basket - let me serve you a Hogwarts lunch here instead."

One of his quirky little smiles came and went quickly as he spoke.

She put down her empty cup and rose, bending quickly to kiss his cheek. Just for a second he stiffened in his chair, then he relaxed, having learned that she would push no further, Gryffindor or not. There might never be more, but she would have this, and would not endanger it.

He touched her hand gently, as he always did in acknowledgement of her affection, though he still sometimes showed his astonishment that she could give it, so easily, as it seemed to him.

"Until tomorrow, then."

ooo === ooo === ooo

On Sunday the weather was both sunny and blowy; Hermione twisted her hair into a knot, and finally put it into a tight plait, while Severus, when he tired of having the black strands whip over his face, fastened it back with a clip Hermione recognised. She must have dropped it into his pocket some time. She was certainly not going to remark that it was hers. They were glad of their coats, but there could be worse weather for strolling around the City.

They started from St Paul's Churchyard, whose garden seemed full of roses, and whose mature trees concealed their arrival.

"Not churches," Hermione murmured, "just churchyards, and gardens."

"It's quiet, for a Sunday."

"The morning services are past, and the late afternoon ones not started."

Around a couple of street corners they came to another rose garden, this one on the site of Christchurch Greyfriars ("destroyed in the second war bombing"), where the rose beds outlined the floor plan of the original church and an avenue of trees the nave. To one side a tower stood, all that was left of the church.

When they went on Severus asked, "What's this stone wall? It looks old."

"Old enough. Part of the Roman walls of London." She smiled at his astonishment. "I can tell you're not from around here. We're heading for the Barber-Surgeons' Garden; that's tucked in behind more wall, but it's been there longer than most. Its herb garden goes back to John Gerrard, at least. He was Master of the Surgeon’s Company in 1607, so I expect what he said went, and they've maintained it ever since."

"A sensible man, for a Muggle," Severus commented. "Had he been a wizard he'd have been an excellent herbologist."

"He left good records, too."

They exchanged a small glance, acknowledging that they both approved of that. Gerrard's book was useful even now to herbologists.

When they walked down the steps beside more Roman wall, and away from the gusting wind, Severus said, "It's a larger garden than the others."

"It was a bombsite too, as well as the original garden. There's even a bit of a Roman fort here."

They spent some time wandering through the divisions of the herb garden, each dedicated to different uses for herbs and plants, Severus lingering over some of the more exotic varieties.

"Pomona would have liked this, being able to grow herbs in the open, instead of having to raise them all in greenhouses."

"The walls provide good shelter, as well as London being much further south. But you have your own herb garden, now."

"I could grow more, with more space, and greater privacy – but my knees and spine might not thank me. It's well enough. This morning I set aside some of those poppy seeds for the garden; I should like to raise them, have my own source, as well as use the seeds in potions. I think they might be less harsh than opium poppy, yet still effective."

"Even though they're _Meconopsis_ , not _Papaver_ ," she murmured, and he raised one hand in silent protest. "They'll be beautiful. But herb gardens are always very satisfying to look at."

"The useful as well as the attractive."

She nodded.

When they left the next garden was not far, but its entry was closed.

"Not on Sundays. This is the Salters' garden."

"Yet another ancient livery company of the City?"

"Umm. Charity work now, though, rather than trade: they encourage chemistry students by giving scholarships."

They could look down over the walls at it, though Severus wasn't particularly taken with the sunken knot garden and yet more roses. Hermione suspected it was too formal for his taste.

They decided not to walk through the gardens of the Barbican Estate, but continued on to Finsbury Circus.

"London's first public park," Hermione informed him cheerfully, "the biggest open space in the city."

"Know-it-all," he muttered.

At last, heading back towards St Paul's, they came to the garden of the Worshipful Company of Goldsmiths ("The Hall is just around that corner," she said), and went through the black wrought iron gates with their ferocious cat masks painted in gold.

"Handsome," was his verdict.

"The king's own mark, the leopard, when he gave them licence to stamp it on gold- and silversmithing items which met their standards. I like it too – it's just formal enough, but that's a very lifelike snarl."

Hermione ran her hand over the large gilded plaque on a concrete block that sat above the low brick wall. "The Goldsmiths had a building here once, though not their actual Hall, that went right back to the grant of that original hallmark, but..."

"Destroyed in the second war bombing?" he guessed.

"Yes. The firewatchers started a garden on the site right in the middle of the blitz. But there was a church here too, once – until the Great Fire of London. St John Zachary, as it says on the plaque at the gate. Come in and down the steps."

"Do you look all this information up to regale me with, Hermione, or for your own satisfaction? You were always a terror for having to know everything about a subject. It drove us mad, in case you didn't know."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I can't have been the _only_ student who was curious. A bit of both, I think. It's not as if I could conjure up a computer to look it up while we're out walking."

"You could summon one," he said provocatively, as they walked along beside the brick wall brilliant with its draperies of purple clematis. "You're quite a competent witch."

"It's far more convenient to know beforehand; I like to be organised," she answered primly.

After they had walked through the several parts of the garden and Hermione had sniffed those flowers likely to have scent, they found a seat where they could watch the small fountain in the centre of the lawn in the deepest part of the garden. It did, indeed, have a pigeon, balanced on the edge of the bowl, flirting with the water spray. Hermione was pleased to see Severus smile, just that very little bit that meant he was content.

There was one more garden, which, like St Paul's, still had its church.

"Go on," he teased, straight faced. "Give me some more facts."

She responded promptly, "The Great Fire did for the original church, and the last Muggle war damaged the Wren church that replaced it, but they built it again, more or less to his design, and made a bigger garden."

"It must be good for all the people crowded into the City, who work here, to have these quiet places to retreat into."

"Very popular in the lunch hour, and in summer before and after work, I think," she agreed. "I suspect quite a bit of the work of maintaining the gardens is done for love, too. That must be a pleasant change from being confined in an office most of the day."

She shivered suddenly.

"Do you feel confined, in the Ministry?"

"Who could help it, underground, knowing how many floors there are above?" She squared her shoulders. "But I don't let it get to me. The Wizengamot Library is a very interesting place to work; I'm usually much too fascinated to worry about claustrophobia."

"You're not reading for pure love of knowledge, though."

"I'm not sure I should wish to be. Knowledge is to be used. I know my research is going to make things easier for some people – at least, with Kingsley as Minister, I can be sure it's being used for a good end."

"I hope you're not assuming that all the members of the Wizengamot are witches and wizards of good will," he said dryly.

"Ill will is much harder to let loose, now." She was silent for a moment. "And it must stay so."

"Then 'constant vigilance' must be your companion."

Her smile was fleeting, sombre. "It is, Severus. It is. But today, so soon after the war ended, people are still wary of backsliding. I was afraid everyone would want to forget, and it would all have to be lived through again, but it seems not."

As they walked towards the border of trees, in whose shelter they could disappear, he responded, "Minerva as Headmistress has been working hard to make sure today's children are taught about what happened to yesterday's children."

"She's asked you to help, then."

"I won't teach again," he said vehemently, "but I'll advise. Even when I was in St Mungo's she'd come by with some problem in someone's syllabus to discuss. We've never got out of the habit."

She knew he'd had few regular visitors: the Headmistress, herself, Draco, some of his Slytherins who survived and did not resent him for it – even Harry, at longer intervals. Initially, she had visited to make sure that the man she had dragged back to life with dittany and a bezoar and the potions secreted inside his robes should continue to live, and to want to live, but that had changed. He had, grumbling all the while, and slowly, given her the confidence one gives to a friend. At first she had been surprised at how she valued that, but she understood herself better now.

She changed the subject before the ground became uncertain under her feet.

"I should like to teach, perhaps, some day when I'm better prepared."

"What, Potions?" He sniffed derisively.

She knew she didn't have the originality of approach to and passion for the subject to become a Potions Mistress, and would not have settled for less.

"I was thinking of History of Magic."

She surprised a laugh out of him. "If anyone ever manages to convey to Cuthbert Binns that he's dead, perhaps!"

In the shade of a well-grown rowan tree he took her hand and they Disapparated together.

ooo === ooo === ooo

Hermione was able to arrange to take a few hours off on Thursday, early enough to get to the exhibition at Goldsmiths' Hall at opening time. She told Severus when she arrived in his flat that her supervisor wanted her to do an evening shift to watch over an experiment, so she had part of the day off.

"This way, if we get there at 10:30, it mightn't be so crowded."

He said mildly, "You don't need to coddle me, Hermione. I have encountered crowds before, and most of them more hostile and more dangerous than a lot of Muggles interested in fine craftwork."

"I'm not fond of crowds either," she said, and added, "these days."

"Just as you prefer not to use the Floo?"

She hadn't realised he knew about that phobia, and said apologetically, "It's so easy for someone to booby-trap it, or put a tracer on you when you use it, or even just for it to go wrong. I'd rather rely on my own magic." She continued, more vigorously, "I prefer to avoid crowds in art exhibitions, that's for certain, especially when almost everything is small and you need to get close to see it."

She ruined that effect by adding, "The Ministry allows its staff to Apparate in. Not everyone enjoyed Pius Thicknesse's term of office, or Dolores Umbridge's anti-Muggleborn Commission, with its ludicrous lies about wands stolen from real witches and wizards, and its concentration camps. They certainly didn’t enjoy the oppressive security precautions, even if they were able to go on working at all."

"Kingsley Shacklebolt had an effective purge of their supporters. He still sacks people who turn out to be closet sympathisers with that point of view. You shouldn't need to be afraid, Hermione."

"I'm not _afraid_ ," she denied. In a small voice she explained, "I just don't like to feel anxious, that's all. Do you think I should try to overcome it?"

"Let it happen, or not, as time allows. It would be different if there were a real need for you to use the Floo system, but there isn't. Come, where are we Apparating to today?"

She was glad to leave the subject. "The Goldsmiths' garden, I thought, behind the big tree in the corner. It's just a short walk."

When they were inside the main foyer of Goldsmiths' Hall, a few steps up from the street and through the swinging doors, Severus stopped abruptly, blinking up at the elaborate chandeliers blazing in broad daylight, illuminating the moulding of the coffered ceiling and the marble pillars and the high gilt arches.

Hermione said affectionately, "The Victorians liked you to notice what they built."

He snorted. "With all that going on, how can anyone pay attention to something the size of a serving dish at most, no matter how finely wrought?"

"The exhibition galleries will be plainer, I expect. I haven't been here before."

Once up the broad staircase and into the first of the galleries, Hermione saw that the curator had indeed ensured that visitors should focus on the artworks. The lighting focussed on the objects inside the glass cases, while carpets and walls disappeared beyond the reach of the lights.

This first room was all items from the beginning of the twentieth century.

In a hushed voice, while they were looking at a silver punchbowl and its ladle, the bowl of each shimmering with waves as if it had been tempered over and over in a swordsmith's fire, Hermione said, "The Arts and Crafts movement was still very much alive, then."

"Be silent, sweet know-it-all, and enjoy."

She took a deep breath and murmured, "You’re right."

They moved slowly through the century, dazzled by the hundreds of creations of impossible beauty. Occasionally Severus asked a question. Sometimes she knew the answer.

Once she said in frustration, "I must get the catalogue!"

"Afterwards," he recommended. "Otherwise you'll be looking in it to see what you ought to think. These labels are quite informative enough."

She laughed ruefully in acknowledgement. It was one of the downsides of turning to books first. This was an occasion to let her senses tell her what to think.

Much later, they moved on to the works from the later part of the closing century, and stared in disbelief at a delicately modelled seashell. It was decorated with enamelled bumblebees, each wonderfully lifelike, the whole a marvel of unlikeliness.

"I wish," she said softly, "we could handle these things."

"You know why that's not possible."

"It would ruin them, in the end, even metal objects, to be handled by all the people who'd like to, I know. Imagine cleaning that!"

"Not a case for Mrs Skower," he agreed, "or a harsh Scourgify, either."

In the last room of all many of the objects were smaller, and many even more fantastic than what they had already seen.

"Why are they making such tiny things? Jewellery, yes, but table objects, ornaments... There must be patrons who want something..."

"Flashier? The price of gold went through the roof a long time ago," Hermione pointed out, "and silver too, I expect. Though you'll notice they're still not stinting on semi-precious stones, even if diamonds too are rarer, except on commissioned pieces. Not everything here was done for the Company, after all; the artist wouldn't always have had the comfortable assurance that someone would cover his cost of materials as well as his skill, before he needed the money he'd tied up in a piece."

"I haven't had to pay attention to exchange rates and that kind of thing since I left school and the Muggle world behind. Now if I'd been an alchemist, like Albus –"

He stopped, but when she looked anxiously up at him he didn't look wounded, as once he would have done; just dumb with surprise at himself, for a flickering moment.

Carefully she offered, "He was never a rich man, though. Just a great wizard. And he probably didn't do a lot of work on alchemy in his last forty years or so – what with Grindelwald and Voldemort."

Severus gave a quick sigh. "Yes. Though Flamel did have the Philosopher's Stone; they would have been careful, but having that probably removed any worries about paying for supplies."

She managed to say lightly, "Probably as well Flamel gave it up and Professor Dumbledore destroyed it, then; the world's economy is far more fragile than wizards might believe."

For a while after that they moved silently along the glass cases once more, though Hermione had to make herself concentrate on the abstract forms of jewellery and ornaments and even dishes.

Then all thought of gold- and silverwork was driven out of her head by glimpsing a long fall of white-blond hair tied back with a black velvet ribbon.

At first she couldn't believe it. Lucius Malfoy among Muggles? It must be some chance resemblance - even a Squib descendant of the family; that was certainly a smart Muggle suit, in fine grey wool...

Then Severus's hand clamped on her forearm. His left hand to her left arm. So he had seen, and did believe. Her free hand slid to her wand hidden up her left sleeve, and Severus released her, warning given.

Then Lucius Malfoy turned. It was only the slight pause before he spoke that revealed he too had been shocked by the encounter.

"Severus! You've been out of that dismal place for a year and you still haven't taken up any of my invitations."

He ignored Hermione completely. Considering the principal occasion on which they had met, over two years ago, she felt she could sympathise with his reluctance to face her, though it surprised her he lacked the hardihood. Maybe he'd been a bit knocked about by the war too. But perhaps she was still just another Mudblood, for all Harry had done to keep the Malfoys alive and out of Azkaban.

Severus spoke very dryly. "Since they were delivered by owl, rather than by yourself, not even by Draco when he visited, I assumed I was not meant to. We had not been – over-friendly – in that last year."

"You misinterpreted my reticence, I assure you."

"In hiding, were you, even when you had a wand again?"

Malfoy looked briefly exasperated, then his face smoothed out again into unreadability. "Did Draco not mention that I was under house arrest for a while? He and my wife were free to move about, but it's only since last summer that I've been – let off the leash."

"Presumably he wished to respect your privacy. We have had other things to talk about. So, Lucius, what are you doing here? Planning to relieve the Muggles of some superfluous wealth?"

Malfoy looked amused, so obviously that wasn't the answer.

'Would you believe me, my supercilious friend, if I said I was educating my palate?"

"I might."

"I have no secrets from a dear friend, an associate of many years."

Hermione could see that Severus had some difficulty in not laughing, as Malfoy went on, "I do realise, Severus, that the world has moved on. And if I and my family, like many purebloods, are not to be left on the shore by this tide of change, I too must change."

"I am not the Wizengamot, to be addressed in metaphor. Just get down to it, Lucius."

A little crisply, no doubt from irritation, Malfoy said, "Has it ever occurred to you, Severus, that there are some cultural gaps in the wizarding world, that there are experiences and excellences the Muggles have that we have not?"

Severus rolled his eyes, and looked patient. Very patient.

"We are superior in having magic, but we don't have art – whether it's music, or literature, or painting, or work such as we see here today. Our paintings are simple records, archives, whether they're portraits, able to speak to us, if we require, of things they experienced which we might not know, or mere sentimental souvenirs of landscapes and buildings that no longer exist.

"Oh very well, I'll get to the point. A lot of Muggles spend much time and money on art. They use it to compete with each other for status, both in patronising artists and in owning art objects. A very reasonable number of those so engaged appear to enjoy the objects themselves, not just the competition or the potential profit to be made."

The grey eyes gleamed with what might even be mischief. "If the wizarding world had such an arena for enjoyment and competition, might it not keep some of us out of trouble? A whole new playground."

Severus tilted his head towards an area by a side wall which was relatively empty. "Let's discuss the drawbacks of your dubious scheme out of the way."

"Dubious?" Malfoy seemed offended. "Apart from reducing unacceptable forms of competition, it should allow purebloods to show themselves accepting of Muggles – which is, unfortunately, a prime consideration in the wizarding world today."

They moved away from the display cases, and Hermione leaned against the wall, watching to see how far Severus would shred his former friend's plans, and waiting an opportunity to put her oar in without being as overtly rude as Malfoy was being towards her.

"And if the wizard in the street decides he wants to play your game? A pureblood of leisure and education such as yourself, Lucius, may have enough intelligence and discretion to play safely and privately, but what's the first thing that happens when a wizard or witch of limited imagination gets interested in something Muggle?"

"What?" Malfoy demanded pettishly, apparently unwilling to play twenty questions.

Flatly Severus replied, "The Statute of Secrecy gets broken six ways from Sunday. If you set off a wave of that, the trouble you were in with the Ministry and the Wizengamot two years ago will be as nothing."

Hermione felt her lips twitching. She was fairly sure that Malfoy would have considered that, given how many "clients" Arthur Weasley's old section had had on any given day, with everything from nose-biting teacups to seriously cursed Muggle artifacts. On the other hand, that kind of thoughtless malice hadn't seemed to rate reproof from anyone higher in the wizarding food-chain. Perhaps it did now. She should enquire.

"I don't think so." Malfoy's voice was firm. " _My_ game will have rules – either we're dealing with Muggle artists as if we were Muggle patrons ourselves, or we're encouraging magical persons to create that kind of art while accepting those limitations: no easy magic, no use of charms or transformations." Reflectively he added, "That variation may be quite difficult to get started. Part of the game would have to be precautions against the use of magic."

Severus turned to Hermione. "What do you think about that?"

She shrugged, and as she spoke Malfoy looked at her for the first time. He paid attention to what she said, too.

"Art in the wizarding world is purpose driven, it's not an end in itself." Quickly she added, "I'm not saying Muggle art doesn't have a range of practical ends, such as making a living, impressing one's patron, impressing one's peers (and superiors, as a way to get on). However, its primary purpose is to _be_ , and to be accepted as a thing sufficient in itself. But wizarding art has the one aim of communication – apart from, as you said, Mr Malfoy, representation of something one is or was attached to. There's certainly plenty of the latter in Muggle art. But of the former, no: none at all. Communication in Muggle art is either between the artist and the viewer, or the object and the viewer. Even if," her voice turned wry, "what the artist is saying is something akin to 'house-elf slavery is wrong'. It's never anything specific to the persons, like 'I hid your grandmother's sapphires in the conservatory, along with my Dark Arts texts, when we were raided by the Aurors'. Which, often enough, is what a wizard wants from a portrait of his ancestor."

Malfoy's mouth twisted in rueful amusement at the second example, though he had raised one eyebrow in scorn of her house-elf reference. "So wizarding art limits itself to communication between _the person represented_ and the _particular_ viewer."

She nodded. "Your up-and-coming artists would have to put that behind them. I'm sure it can be done – Muggle artists learn to cope with new things all the time; so can wizarding ones – if they decide they want to."

Abruptly Malfoy said, "You're talking about paintings. I was aware of this bias, of course, though I hadn't summarised it like that. I thought, to avoid it, I would concentrate on objects – like these, or sculpture, though not of persons, living or dead. There are any number of things that can set that archival purpose to one side."

Hermione suggested, "Go to one of the museums displaying the work of the Arts and Crafts movement – a lot of the things in the first room came out of that – to see the range of possibilities. Furniture, tapestries, jewellery, clothing. Craftsperson work may have more initial appeal to wizards than 'art' – especially anything like abstract art. That's something I haven't learned to appreciate yet, though there are some things I like, and I was born in a world where that is long established as interesting and respectable.

"Remember, too, that all artists need more than just a patron, even if that patron keeps them for life. They need a society that welcomes what they produce. You will need to encourage that too, as well as create ground rules."

Severus put in, "If you succeed, Lucius, you will be creating a new source of employment and social acceptance in the wizarding world, as well as a venue for enjoyment and competition." His eyes narrowed. "Potentially, the wizard artists you patronise may become – Malfoy's men."

Malfoy looked as if he would have said, "Naturally," but didn't do so. He said blandly, "I am seeking social acceptance for my family, not political power, Severus."

"They are not so separate as you make them sound. However, that may content the Ministry." Severus gave his little quirky smile. "I wish you luck, familiarising yourself with the Muggle world you've always avoided, sufficiently to choose not only what is good – make that excellent, and what is most likely to appeal to our world, but also to sell it to your peers in such a way that you make no waves. You'll have to take the Statute of Secrecy very seriously in your own actions."

"I am not eager to be haled before the Wizengamot again; you may be sure I shall be careful. And this time, _I_ shall be making the choices, not a madman who suffers no one to restrain him."

Hermione was sourly amused that he made no reference to his own disastrous choice to follow that madman. Voldemort probably hadn't looked at all mad, when he began, to a conservative pureblood anxious about changes in the wizarding world. Hermione could see alternative points of view more clearly than she had as a child, struggling to adapt to and to excel in a new world, and thrust to the forefront in a fight where everyone of her kind was threatened.

"I decided to begin here, after my lawyer provided me with a list of suitable Muggle art exhibitions. This one celebrates their last hundred years of achievement. It does so in a significant year, in a field that our world already finds attractive, and was mounted by what I gather to be one of the supreme patrons of art in this age." Malfoy smiled faintly. "And there are no portraits of people I don't know to confuse me."

He turned to Hermione again and asked, with a cool courtesy that she didn't make the mistake of taking personally, "What would you recommend I see, Miss Granger?"

"There are two houses which I'm sure would be helpful for you to visit; both are easy to access, for a wizard who can Apparate," she said at once. "William Morris's Kelmscott House near Hammersmith: he was the leader of the most important movement for excellence in crafts of all kinds, in the late nineteenth century. You saw the work of Ashbee in the first room?"

Malfoy nodded.

"He and his own followers were much influenced by Morris. There are regular exhibitions there. But probably much more helpful, because you can see almost all of it at any time, would be Blackwell, the Arts and Crafts House in the Lake District, which was designed, built and furnished on those principles. It's been restored, and refurnished with suitable period pieces as well as some that were made for the house. It's very beautiful, and has simple but attractive gardens, too, looking over the lake. It's outside Bowness on Lake Windermere."

She was aware she sounded breathless with enthusiasm; Severus was looking austerely indulgent, Malfoy intrigued.

"Have you other recommendations?"

"Lots," she said honestly. "I'll owl you a list. Also, Transport for London produces a lot of booklets about places of interest, and there are leaflets to guide tourists around street art – sculpture on public land – here in London, and lots of other places. I'll collect some and send them off to you, annotated, if you like."

His thanks were rather warmer than she expected. It seemed as if he was willing to accept help from a Muggleborn. He probably did still think of her as a Mudblood, though he'd have more political awareness than to use the word now, but that willingness signalled a real change in attitude. Hermione was conscious of a small spring of hope. Draco had truly changed, and perhaps his father was capable of changing too. Maybe the wizarding world wasn't going to be brought down in blood and fire yet again by pureblood jealousy and ambition and fear.

That didn't mean she couldn't tease Malfoy a little. Let him see that she thought herself his equal.

"It might be worth your while having someone prepare wizarding versions of some of those leaflets for people walking around, for the 'wizard in the street'. Hogsmeade is the only totally separate wizarding village, after all; our people do live among Muggles. But you should test those walks out yourself. Muggle city councils all over Britain commission public art – but you may need to focus on what that wizard might enjoy looking at, and avoid what might exasperate or puzzle him."

Severus was definitely looking amused now. Hermione was inspired to actual mischief.

"Indeed, there's a long tradition of decorating Tube stations – that's the Underground. I've noticed that witches and wizards of only moderate powers do use that, rather than risking Apparation, or paying for Floo powder or Portkeys. You might like to explore." She smiled, consciously charming, though she knew she couldn't compete with Malfoy there. "Transport for London has leaflets on that, too. Some of the work, the old as well as the new, is quite pleasing."

She liked the thought of Malfoy stuck in the Tube system, especially in the rush hour, fighting his way off at every station and wandering about trying to look at the decorative tile work. She didn't think he'd be impressed with it, but he'd have to try to evaluate how it would look to wizards he despised almost as much as he despised Muggles.

It seemed she had deceived him into thinking that a helpful suggestion too. He mused, "It might be as well to have some such thing in reserve, if indeed the ordinary wizard wants to inspect Muggle arts and crafts."

Hermione wondered how long it would be before Malfoy delegated the job of exploration. One ride on the Tube, probably. It was delightful to think he was far too aware of his still precarious legal position to risk hexing the Muggles who stepped on his feet and shoved him out of the way and tangled their fingers impertinently in his beautiful long hair. He might have a little trouble finding an isolated corridor or corner to Disapparate from, also.

Later she would make sure Severus appreciated the full beauty of the situation Malfoy was voluntarily walking into.

Meanwhile, she might as well find out what he thought of the work in this room of contemporary goldsmiths' art, so that she had some notion of how his art-as-warfare-for-wizards campaign might go. She looked forward to the new age of patronage in wizarding art he meant to promote. The wizarding world certainly needed spicing up with something besides talking portraits, Celestina Warbeck's dreadful songs on the wizarding wireless, and Quidditch.

Later, too, she could have fun discussing with Severus whether he thought Lucius would find anyone vain enough to be persuaded to throw his fortune at opera. In the view of some Muggles – not her – that was the pinnacle of the arts, and nowadays beyond the purse of kings, as often as not. What a spectacular fall from solvency that would be, if wizarding world singers learned to charge as their Muggle counterparts did. It would be naughty of her to suggest to Malfoy that it might be worth his while going to a season or two at Covent Garden, and if he didn't annoy her, she wouldn't do it.

ooo === **Fin** === ooo

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sshg_exchange winter 2008, for ladybirdington. London hasn't been my home town for some thirty years now, so thanks are due to my beta reader aunty_marion, who is a Londoner and who, among other things, did a fantastic job of making sure _all_ my references checked out. Thanks also to the mods for patience and to my brother for listening to me wail for weeks.
> 
>  _My sources and the original prompt_
> 
> Kew Gardens (aka Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew) has an informative and lavishly illustrated [website](http://www.rbgkew.org.uk/), even if not everything shown was there in 2000. So has [The London Parks and Gardens Trust](http://www.londongardenstrust.org), for anyone who wants to know history or go walkies. I found [their city walks guide](http://www.londongardenstrust.org/guides/city.htm) very helpful. You can look up [the Great Storm of 1987](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Storm_of_1987), and see pictures of its effects on Kew Gardens [on the BBC](http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_pictures/7043043.stm).
> 
> Goldsmiths' Hall did hold that Millenium exhibition in the summer of 2000 (wish I'd been there to see it!), but the only way to find pictures of what they displayed (apart from buying the catalogue, ha) is to trawl through the works of their members on their own (usually minimal) websites. So I, um, mostly made stuff up, or described real items which might not, in fact, have been in the exhibition. Not that seashell decorated with enamelled bumblebees, though; that was there.
> 
> The original prompt was "Snape is convalescing at home post-snakebite (not Spinner’s End – a London flat, please) when Hermione starts bothering him to get out more. What do they do/find on their walks around London? And what on earth do they talk about? Some established post-war friendship, romance not absolutely necessary. Just go for realism. Toss a Lucius sighting in for bonus points." I've quoted that because without it I cannot otherwise imagine having written a story in which walking around the gardens of London features so prominently, since London hasn't been my home town for so long.


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